


Untitled Porn

by dragonspell



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Closet Sex, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: Frank and Matt in a closet.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Entropyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/gifts).



> Because Entropy wanted Fratt porn for Christmas. Merry Christmas. This has no plot.

Cedar, Frank thinks. It’s cedar that he’s smelling. Must be the trim work.

There’s also a whiff of stale perfume, like some of the clothes that are currently brushing up against Frank as he crowds against the back of the closet were dipped in it at some point. Then there’s the hint of sandalwood and that weird Kevlar that Red wears and _fuck_ , is this how Murdock feels all the time? With no light in the tiny, cramped closet, Frank’s blind and it makes everything else seem loud—the smells, the tingle of silk against his arm, the steady press of Murdock’s _ass_ … 

Frank tries to shift away, put a few inches between his cock and a nicely curved surface before said surface’s owner notices his inappropriate reaction, but Murdock fumbles a hand back against his hip and stops him. Fingers slide over Frank’s jeans, scraping his belt and just barely grazing an inch of skin. Frank inhales roughly as his cock swells a little more.

Christ, he’s fucked up.

Murdock shushes him and cocks his head, listening. Right. For once, Frank is glad that Red followed him. Normally, Murdock only gets in Frank’s way with his ridiculous, unsustainable code of ethics, making Frank’s job twice as hard as it should be, criminals escaping left and right, but Frank’s intel had been a little off. Except for the goons in the basement, the mansion was supposed to be empty. How was Frank supposed to know that Bianchi’s eurotrash son had flown back in town last night?

The goons were gone, and scads of drunk twenty-somethings had taken their place. Murdock presses back against Frank. Frank tilts his hips away and hisses warningly. “Red.”

“Almost,” Murdock whispers.

Almost is not what Frank wants to hear. Almost reminds Frank that there’s only a few layers between him and Murdock and that it’s been years since he’s had any but his right hand. Almost reeks of the almost kiss that Frank nearly had with Justin Coleridge senior year and the furtive handjobs Frank could hear in the dark only a bunk or so away on any given night in the barracks. Almost makes Frank want to grip Murdock’s hips tight and pull that finely toned ass back against Frank’s cock and see how long Red manages to keep quiet.

Unbidden, Frank’s hand reaches out to scrape over Murdock’s lower stomach. The fabric is soft and flexible beneath Frank’s fingers, even though he knows that it would take one hell of a knife to pierce it. Red jumps, surprised, and catches Frank’s hand, holding it still with a steady press of his own. Frank leans forward, sliding his chin over Murdock’s shoulder, letting himself soak up the warmth of Murdock’s body while Murdock stays calm and open. Vulnerable. It’s practically an invitation in their fucked-up little world. Frank rubs his cheek against Murdock’s, feeling the stubble of his jaw scrape on Murdock’s skin, unable to help himself. Murdock twists his head, moving it away even as he acknowledges Frank, and his hand gives a warning squeeze. Frank grins because it feels like a challenge. He’s always liked a challenge.

A high giggle echoes through the room outside and Frank freezes, understanding what Murdock must have been listening to. “In here,” a male voice whispers and a door closes.

“Your dad—” Another male, more hesitant, the vowels thicker.

“Isn’t home, now is he?” The first voice again. It practically oozes money and Frank thinks that he’s probably listening to Bianchi’s kid. The punk is supposed to be away at his expensive European university, but yet here he is, coaxing another kid into a room with him. Christ.

“Are you sure—”

“Jerome. Shut the fuck up and kiss me already.”

Frank closes his eyes as a slick, wet sound pierces into him and wishes that he could do the same with his ears. Yeah, it’s been awhile. And Bianchi’s kid and his Jerome sure don’t seem to be holding back.

The fact that it’s Red that Frank’s snugged up against isn’t exactly helping, either. For all of his derision about Murdock’s moral code, Frank can’t help but be drawn to that bit of light. Red’s a sputtering candle in the darkness that has become Frank’s life, tinged a little by Red’s own dwindling hope, but it’s still there. The man’s a gorgeous crusader against all the evils of the world, seeking to right it one good work at a time, and how is Frank not supposed to be attracted to that?

Thoughts have been banging around in Frank’s head for awhile, he’ll admit it, and once he caught himself wanting to drop some ill-advised words about taking a quick roll in Red’s sheets.

“Oh, yes, fuck, I’ve missed you,” Bianchi’s kid mutters, voice roughened with arousal. More wet sounds and the rustle of clothes and sheets and Frank’s wondering about making another door in the back of the closet just to escape. It’s either that or busting out and running for the window, letting Bianchi know that Frank’s on to him before he’s even had a chance to find Bianchi’s hole in the ground, because he’s pretty sure that Bianchi’s kid and Jerome out there are about to fuck.

Murdock sways and Frank buries a groan against his shoulder. _Fuck_. Speaking of giving away information that he really shouldn’t… “Frank?” Murdock presses back against Frank, hips giving a little experimental wiggle and Frank gives up on trying to stop the resulting reaction. His cock goes from half-ready to all-in and he lets it ride along the tempting crack of Murdock’s ass. “Is that—” Murdock cuts himself off, already knowing the answer to his question. “Oh.” He drops his hands away.

“Yeah,” Frank mutters. There’s no use trying to deny it. Fuck, Red can probably hear Frank’s elevated heartbeat, feel the damn flush that’s creeping up his neck—fucking _smell_ him. There is no hiding a reaction like that from Matt fucking Murdock because he might be blind but he sees everything. Every damn thing. Frank rubs his nose against Murdock’s cheek, letting the clean scent burn into his memory, before he steps back. Hopefully, Murdock will let him go this time, now that he knows what the problem is.

Together, they stand in the dark, both facing the door and both pretending that nothing’s happening, both inside the closet and outside. They’re men. They can do that. Frank nods to himself and shoves everything he doesn’t need right now to the back of his mind—the fact that he can still feel Murdock’s heat, the knowledge he has of Murdock’s bedroom and his goddamned silk sheets, everything except for making Bianchi pay for his crimes.

Justice. That’s all Frank needs. His kind of justice.

And for Bianchi’s kid to be a little quieter. Jesus fuck. The kid’s caterwauling like an alley cat in between the soft slap of skin on skin. It’s not doing much for Frank, but the boyfriend’s little huffs and Murdock’s resultant shifting certainly is. Frank knows that Murdock can hear a hell of a lot more than Frank can, can probably hear the squelch of lube, the rustle of fingers digging into sheets, the soft brush of hair slipping over skin… Frank’s getting hot just thinking about it. How does Murdock live with this shit?

Hands push on Frank’s shoulders, knocking him against the back wall, as Murdock muscles his way into Frank’s little bit of space and Frank’s about to demand what the hell’s going on when warm, wet lips cover Frank’s own, Murdock’s aim as flawless as ever in the dark. Frank gasps, his arms rising to wrap around Red’s back, fingers once again slipping over the surprising softness of the suit. A hard thigh pushes between Frank’s own and Frank instinctively rocks against it. He bites his lip to muffle his groan and thrusts again, eyes fluttering uselessly in the dark as pleasure rockets up his spine. 

Murdock—Matt, Frank corrects, because a guy kissing him and getting acquainted with his cock should be on a first name basis—is hard and warm against him. The closet wall is solid and unforgiving at his back, while soft clothes part around them, rubbing against hair and skin, forming a cocoon around them even as Matt boxes Frank in. Frank fumbles in the dark, one hand sliding up over the smoothness of Matt’s mask while the other drops down to squeeze the ass that has been taunting him for seemingly years now. He cups the supple curve, fingers easing into the crack and Matt diverts his mouth to bite at Frank’s jaw, hands gripping Frank’s head, thumbs pressing under his ears and fingers scraping over Frank’s stubble of hair. Matt flexes his hips, rolling them against Frank, breath harsh as he gets himself off, and Frank obligingly gives him a jean-clad thigh. Seems fair, he thinks. Of course, the feeling of Matt riding him, hard cock rubbing over the muscle, is a bonus.

In the daylight, with his nice suits, smooth hair, and quiet little laugh, Matt Murdock’s always looked to Frank like he might be soft to the touch, gentle and easy, but there’s nothing soft or gentle about the man pressed against Frank. This Matt Murdock, the vigilante that hunts by night, is all hard muscle, demanding mouth, and thrusting cock. Frank pushes a moan into Matt’s mouth and shoves himself against Matt’s muscled thigh, sparks exploding along his nerves with each grind of his cock.

Frank wants a bed and an empty room. He wants a lot less clothes on between them, wants to push up against Matt’s hot skin, feel the muscles flex and move under his fingers instead of the soft rasp of the suit against his leather and denim. He wants to lay Matt out and explore him with his mouth, let Matt put those clever fingers wherever he likes, run his plush lips over Frank as he pleases. He wants to know what kind of sounds Matt makes when he’s not holding back, know the moans and gasps and the surprised chuckles. He wants to know what Matt’s tight ass feels like. God, does he want to know.

Frank comes with a full-bodied shudder, sucking harshly at the air while his hips piston relentlessly against Matt’s leg. Matt gasps in response, his grip tightening as he bows his head and mouths at Frank’s neck. Matt’s hips roll smoothly against Frank for a few more seconds before they stutter and slam forward one last time, grinding in small circles while Matt pants. Beyond his harsh breath, Matt’s utterly quiet, but Frank can feel the tremble of orgasm shaking through his body. His cock gives a sympathetic twitch and more than anything, Frank wishes he could see right now.

Lips press a few soft kisses to Frank’s jaw before sliding over to his mouth. Matt licks his tongue along the seam of Frank’s mouth before slipping in. It’s a quick, quiet invasion that has Frank wanting to hoist up the white flag and surrender. When Matt pulls away, Frank follows him, wanting more, but Matt stops him with a finger against his lips.

“They’re, uh,” Matt whispers, “they’re gone.”

Frank moves his lips against Matt’s fingers, body finally coming down from its high. Contentment eases across his limbs even as a pang of disappointment squeezes his chest. Frank doesn’t want this to be over. Not yet. He needs more.

“And my apartment’s empty right now.” Matt’s words come out in a quiet rush.

“Yeah?” Frank asks. He moves his hands to gently explore the curve of Matt’s face, feels a kiss press into his palm. His breath stutters. “You gonna let me see what you look like against those black sheets?” Bianchi’s goons are gone along with Frank’s lead, but there’s always tomorrow—and the next day and the day after that. Frank can afford a night.

“My sheets are black?” Matt asks, laughter thrumming through his voice.

Frank shrugs. “Unless they’re those red ones you sometimes put on.”

“And why do you know the color of my sheets?”

“How else was I going to be able to picture you on them?” Matt shakes his head and evidently takes that as an answer as he backs away, moving out of the closet entirely. Clothes part around him, hangers jostling on the rack, and Frank follows him out. A beam of light streams in from the hall, just enough to illuminate the smile on Matt’s lips. Frank leans in and kisses him, hand cradling Matt’s head, before they both head for the window. It’s the second story but that means fuck all to both of them.

Matt’s apartment is fifteen minutes away and Frank knows that he’s going to be counting down every second, especially when Matt gives him another quick, dirty kiss full of promise and then leaps out the window and curls into a tight, skillful roll. Frank reaches down to readjust himself. Oh, yeah. He jumps, following as Matt leads him forward, like a light in the darkness.


End file.
